


Side Effects

by Sourcherrymagiks



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst and Porn, Canon Badass Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Sex, Watford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26879482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sourcherrymagiks/pseuds/Sourcherrymagiks
Summary: Its been 1,460 days, 35,040 hours, 2,102,400 minutes since Natasha's death. It still hurts. It always hurts. There's only one other person in the entire World of Mages who understands. Unfortunately she lives in a literal barn.
Relationships: Ebeneza "Ebb" Petty/Fiona Pitch
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	Side Effects

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks you to everyone on the discord who encouraged me to post this. Especial thanks to ,  Aralias [Sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover) and [ Water wings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterwings/pseuds/waterwings) for their Beta'ing

**Fiona**

“Come in, it's open,” she yells. 

“‘Course it’s fucking open, it’s a literal barn, you nutter.” I’m sure I meant to be a bit nicer but she’s so fucking annoying. How did she know I was coming? Why does nothing surprise her? Why is she okay with me even being here, like this?

She turns as I plonk myself on the shit collection of springs and grotty fabric that passes for a couch, and for one horrible minute, I think she’s going to hug me.

“Don’t you fucking dare Ebb, I am not a goat.”

She mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘mores the pity.’ Bitch. 

She grabs an empty off-brand Nutella jar and fills it with wine. I tut when she passes it to me. (She does it on fucking purpose. There is glassware available to her. She just likes to be a tramp). Undeterred and unconcerned, she plonks herself down on the floor between the sofa and the table, elbow next to me on the sofa. About a foot too close. 

“Personal space still not on the curriculum at Watford, babe?” I ask, half snide and half soft, because I swear on Merlin’s jockstrap that she makes me feel more like me every second I’m with her. 

“I’m so sure you came all the way here at 1am for a bit of space, Fi. Seems perfectly legit. That’s exactly what I would do if I wanted people to leave me alone. Turn up at their house in the middle of the night. But we can go with that if you like?” Ebb moves back so slightly and I want to slap her for taking the piss. Then thank her for getting it (getting _me_ ) _._ Then slap her again for calling me out. 

“How did you know I was coming?” I hate that I sound needy. I hate that she knows I need her to start it. But she loves a cry and I can’t unless she helps.

“I have a calendar, Fi. If I didn’t have a calendar I would still be able to tell you exactly how many days it has been. I think I thought it would get easier, but here we are on day 1,460 and it’s worse. I’m worse, everything is worse.” She waves her hand vaguely at the _everything._

Then she sobs. Ebb has always been a cryer. Even when we were sprouts she cried over everything. All her feelings running down her face. But it’s different now; she cries like breaking glass now. 

It takes a second for me to catch up. It starts with a yawn, then the tears. Slow at first but soon out of my control. 

If we were decent human beings, we would be crying over a young life lost. Over all the potential that disappeared that day. We might even cry for the whole Magickal community. But we are selfish bitches, crying because we lost the one person who made sense. 

Natasha **.**

I can’t even handle her name in my brain without choking on all the fucking feelings. I’m angry and disappointed and sad and so fucking relentlessly angry. 

“Why did she do it?” I ask Ebb. Or maybe just the universe. 

Ebb shakes her head and I see the same anger in her eyes that I feel in my chest. We both know that Natasha bloody Pitch was more than a match for a few vampires. We both know she could have called and help would have been there. We both know it was a fucking pointless waste of everything beautiful and magical in the whole world. 

And I know all that is bullshit. I know I’m being unfair, blaming her for her own death. But I need her. I still need her. It’s all just wrong.

“It shouldn’t have been you instead Fi, that’s not how this story goes.” She’s still crying but her voice is clear now. Clear enough to cut to the heart of my feelings like a hot knife. The words expose me, I feel flayed and raw. 

“How can you say that? After all she was to you?” It comes out like a snarl.

“Because it’s true. I can miss her and hate what happens next without wishing it different. And you aren’t such an annoying twat that I’d wish you dead. Annoying enough that I might wish the odd ingrowing toenail on you. Or maybe athletes foot.” 

She laughs through her tears at her own shit joke and it’s like thin sunshine on a grey day. Not quite enough but something. 

**Ebb**

She’s drunk or as near as dammit. I’m a bit drunk. Drunk enough to think that it’s not a bad idea. Well not the worst idea. It’s an idea. 

She’s beautiful. Well, I mean, she’s a mess. We both are. I’m grubby and drunk and blurry. She’s all smudged eyeliner and wild hair. But she’s still so fucking beautiful. 

I’m skanky for even thinking that now (of all times) is the right time. But we’ve both lost everything. We are both stuck in a place that can’t fit right without her. Natasha was everything to both of us. She was the sun and we were safe as long as we had her to orbit. Now we’re both fucked. Both chaos. My heart feels sore. 

But _she’s_ here and leaning into me. She smells of citrus and cigarettes. She looks like she’s about to fight a Valkyrie (and win).

I know it won’t mean anything. (Well, it will mean she won’t visit until she thinks I’ve forgotten. Or she has.) But it won’t mean what I wish it would. 

But I’ve loved her through worse. 

I’ve loved her hopelessly. 

If I do this, if we do this, then it’s done. There won’t be another chance. 

So what’s a little less hope?

Her hand slides up my thigh, warm and insistent. 

Fuck it, what’s a little less hope? 

**Fiona**

This is a fucking stupid idea. I just need someone to make me forget for a minute. I hate these feelings, like I’m choking on my own heart. 

I know I’m fucking lying about just needing somebody, though. I don’t have to drive to Watford to find a warm body and a willing victim. I need some love tonight. 

It’s not fair, but I’m not fair. I’m selfish and stroppy and a fucking handful and I have made my peace with that. So has she. It’s not like I’ve been hiding what a fucker I am. 

She’s still here though. She’s always here. She always has been. I thought Tasha would be too, though. How fucking wrong can you be? 

Fuck it.

I grab her thigh in a not-subtle way. Let’s get this going.

**Ebb**

I lay my hand over hers.

“I’m not gonna fuck you, Fi. If you want this then it’s my way or you’ll be on the sofa.”

“It’s barely a fuckin’ sofa, love.”

“Not the point, really Fi.” If I let her joke me into fucking on the floor I’ll have _regrets._

“Alright, alright, I’m all yours, do what you will.”

She rolls her eyes when I snort at her being _mine,_ or maybe she’s just rolling her eyes at me being a soft shit. It’s nothing new and it makes me brave. I stand up and pull her to her feet. 

“I like you like– _ooof.”_ I lob her over my shoulder before she starts with her bitchy defence. She’s tense for a minute; I wait for the punch or kick I probably deserve but it doesn’t come. Wonders never cease. 

She starts giggling when I lay her on the bed but she soon shuts up when she realises that I’m serious. I’m not one of her drunken grope sessions. I’ve waited too long for this.

“Don’t be too nice to me Ebb, I’ll fucking cry all over you. Snot in your hair, the works.”

I press my finger to her lips. 

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up. Please.” We both laugh at my ‘please.’ I’m shit at being bossy but I want to slow her down. She’s always been a whirlwind. Everything is quick. Action follows feeling at high speed and it makes me dizzy. 

She’s a bloody vision though. Push up bra and black vest combo. Jeans so tight that I know she’s not wearing underwear. Like a cross between a vampire hunter and a stripper. I straddle her, pinning her to the bed. She gives a wriggle but she’s not really trying. It’s hard to say who would win if we actually got to it. Probably her (she’s feral when she’s pissed off).

I raise her hands over her head. She twitches them and I shake my head. “Stay.” 

She pouts. It’s beautiful. 

I let go of her wrists to run the backs of my hands down the inside of her arms. The skin is laced with scars, too many fights with bloody demons. Inside and out. I kiss each one. 

I’m a clumsy thing. I’ve always been thumbs and more thumbs. I know what I want to do here tonight but I’m probably going to balls it up like the twat I am. I want her to feel loved. I want her to be able to rest in that for a moment. Before she gets all spikey and I can never give it to her.

**Fiona**

I should kick her arse onto the floor and snog her until she stops breathing. I should get her out of those bloody horrible shorts. (Are they _hockey_ shorts? Does she dress out of the lost and found? Still?) I should pound her until she screams and then drink myself unconscious.

But I’m just lying here like a soft dickhead while she kisses the parts of me I try and hide. I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to get involved in anymore of this fucking feelings bullshit. 

Then she licks my collarbone. I guess I don't want to cry anymore.

“Fuck” slides out of my mouth like a whine and she presses her finger to my lips again. I dart my tongue out and flick it over the pad. She nudges it into my mouth while she works her mouth up my neck. This is ridiculous. I want her to get me off without this fuss. But I suck her fingers because... 

Why does her fucking hair smell like strawberries anyway? She lives in a shed, she should smell like literal shit. But instead she’s here smelling like summer making me whine while she sucks behind my ear. I refuse to respond to the way she’s lightly scratching the back of my neck. I’m not going to give her the satisfaction of any more stupid noises. 

Until she moves those fingers in a slow trail down from the back of my neck across the top of my chest. Then I make a noise that sounds far too close to ‘please’ to be acceptable. She does it again and I open my eyes (were they closed?) to see her looking for something in my face. Something I probably can’t give her. I turn slightly, hoping she gets the hint about sucking my neck again. She does, thank fuck. 

**Ebb**

It’s almost too much. Her wine-stained mouth around my fingers, the pulse in her neck as I kiss it, those whimpers replacing her usual cursing and shouting. 

I pull my fingers from her mouth and push the straps of her top and bra off her shoulders. Fi’s clothes are bloody armour. Everything’s tight, everything is hard to get into. 

“Fi, get your kit off will you, I’m just gonna cock it up.”

We both laugh because it’s so stupid. All of this is stupid. But she’s my mate and I love her. I can’t even be arsed to be embarrassed or weird about it. She knows what I want, I know what she wants. All of it involves her not being trussed up like a chicken. 

She pulls the vest over her head and I unhook her bra but don’t take it off. She does that bastard eyebrow thing at me and says, “Smooth, babe,” and laughs. 

“Shut up and lie down.” I laugh right back at her. 

She stops laughing when I kiss between her breasts. I bite down the moan I can feel trying to burst out of me. Her skin. Her skin under my mouth. It’s too much. 

My fingers find their way into her bra and we both catch breath as I stroke her. 

She feels so good like this, under me, not giving me shit or ignoring me.

She bucks her hips when I pull the cup down and take her nipple in my mouth. I scratch light patterns in her shoulder and over her cleavage while I suck hard. 

I'm trying to hold her still and failing. 

But what a bloody way to fail. 

Fiona fucking Pitch losing it because of me. 

**Fiona**

For someone who spends far too long on her own in the bloody woods, Ebb has got some skills. She’s driving me wild with her mouth and her fingers and her confidence.

She’s too close though; I feel exposed. I hate it. 

I yank at the back of her T-shirt until it comes apart in my hands. All of her clothes are old and manky so frankly, they deserve to be destroyed. There’s something sexy as magic about the sound of tearing fabric. She laughs and the breathy sounds over my nipple make me squirm again. 

I can’t take it all in. My brain feels like it’s full of static. How is she so fucking beautiful? Why have I waited this long to rip her clothes off? 

I try to touch her. I want her in my mouth and under my fingers. I want. But she dodges me to carry on with her evil plan. 

It goes on forever. The licking, the kissing, the stroking. I’m on fire (as a Pitch I do not say that lightly) but fucking useless against her. My bones have turned to jelly. I just _need._

I think I’m going to cry with frustration when her hand finally moves to my jeans. The button is open so quickly that I know she’s cheating. She uses all that goatherd strength to tug at my jeans for a moment, then they slide down my legs far too easily and my suspicion is confirmed. 

“It’s a waste of magic, you know.” Crowley, I sound like I’ve been jogging. (In theory. I’ve never actually jogged. I don’t even own _trainers_. Why would I?)

She lifts her head slightly and fixes me with her stupid blue eyes. “Getting you naked is what magic was made for.” Then she swipes her tongue over my nipple again without taking her eyes off me. I melt into an unholy agony of _want._

“Please, please Ebb, please.”

I swear the manky urchin is laughing as she presses scalding kisses down my belly, closer, so close, almost to where I need her. 

**Ebb**

I feel like I might be shaking. I don’t seem to be shaking though. Faking confidence is helping. The ways she’s responding is really _not_ helping. 

Who knew that Fiona Pitch would be so easily pleased? 

I kiss a trail down her stomach to her hip, where I suck a bruise like she’s mine to mark. She _is_ mine for now. I want her to see it when this is done and think of me for a minute. To run her thumb over it and remember my mouth against her skin. To feel like mine. 

Her underwear is as nonexistent as I hoped it would be. I drive myself slightly mental imagining her in expensive looking knickers, then decide to save that thought for when I don’t actually have her under me. 

I lick the crease of her thigh and she gasps, so I do it again. She smells of Fi. She smells of sex. I think I could breathe this in forever. 

“Fucking do something,” she hisses at me while trying to lift her hips to give me a face full. 

Not yet. 

I run a finger so gently up the inside of her thigh, then trace it along the line of her cunt. I keep a hold of her hip so she can’t get any more than I’m giving her. She’s spitting and hissing like a cat. 

Swearing in three languages. 

Holding herself just short of casting at me. 

I up the pressure a tiny bit, just enough to feel the smooth heat of her.

Then I fucking lose it. I want this, too. I want more than a fuck but also, right now, I need a fuck. 

I slip my finger right inside. There’s a second of resistance but she’s already wet. So wet and so ready. I muffle my groan into her thigh. 

I add a second finger because I’m greedy. The noise she makes, the way she shivers. She’s greedy too.

This. 

This is everything. 

This is what I need right now (and forever, but I’ll take right now.) 

I ease my fingers out and back in so slowly. She’s panting and still (for now). I thumb gently over her clit, too gently to be anything but exasperating. 

“Ebb, I’m warning you.” She sounds dangerous. It’s so fucking hot that I whine a bit. 

I give her what she needs. Almost.

**Fiona**

I am going to spank her so fucking hard for this. (So I really want to _spank_ her?) (I definitely do) 

She knows exactly what she’s doing. Every touch is just a bit too slow or too light or just off. It’s making the back of my mouth itch with pent-up hunger. I can’t even move into it because she’s holding me down (and I don’t want to).

She whines and I wonder if this is good for her? I’m not even touching her but she seems into it, I guess. Then she moves her thumb exactly right and I don’t give a shit anymore if it’s good for her. 

It's good and right and something starts building slowly. All the muscles in my body surging towards the building pressure. My heart is pounding in my ears and in my cunt and in my _everything._ She sets a pace that doesn’t give me space to breathe; I can’t catch myself, my whole body is insisting, demanding. Then it whites out.

I know I shout her name as the first pulse rips through me. I try to pull away but she pins me, hand right over my cunt, fingers still inside. I’m helpless. I writhe and clench and try to back away. It’s too much, too good, too close. 

She doesn’t let me go, though.

She does the opposite.

Her mouth takes me by surprise. It’s hot (so hot) and wet. She’s convincing my body I’m not done and it’s inclined to believe her. The slight suck as she circles a firm tongue over my clit wrings another shudder out of me. I’m falling again, tensing, shaking, screaming as she fucking devours me. 

“Fuck Ebb, fuck, please, fuck, yes, yes, please.”

I grab at her hair and then the hand on my hip. I must bruise her as I come again, deeper this time, harder. Fuck. 

**Ebb**

I don’t know what to do now. 

Am I allowed to kiss her?

Should I hide in the bathroom until she goes?

Shall I get the biscuits?

She solves all my awkward problems by hauling me up by my shoulders and snogging me until I can’t breathe. I feel like I’m drowning in her. Her hands are in my hair, pulling me closer. She’s biting my lips, tugging them, licking at me.

She flips us over, very nearly into the floor. We have to do a not-very-graceful shuffle back into safe territory.

She slips her bra off properly, then pulls the scraps of what used to be a fairly functional t-shirt off my shoulders. 

I don’t understand the look in her eyes. It’s dark and dangerous (normal for Fi) but also surprised? Maybe?

I don’t have time to dwell before she’s kissing me again. Sighing into my mouth. 

“Fuck, Ebb”—she runs a hand over my breast then pinches my nipple—“when did you get so hot?”

I snort because I’m really fucking not. And I haven’t changed. She’s just fuck drunk.

The way she runs her hands over me, like this means something. It’s starting to twist in me like a dark thing. 

It’s not real.

It’s not real.

It’s not real.

Her hand makes its way under my shorts, breaking my spiralling thoughts. She’s not subtle. Or gentle. She is fucking accurate though.

I think I might die if I keep looking at her, astride me, fingers working between my legs. 

I’m gasping, reaching, almost there. She feels my thigh shaking and I bite my lip to keep my mouth shut. 

She looks as sweaty and raw as I feel. It’s that that tips me into it. I know I’m swearing and begging and everything is lights and heat and her. 

Everything is always her. 

**Fiona**

I lean forward and kiss her forehead. Like a soft twat. 

I’m drunk and tired which is obviously why I tuck myself into her side. And it’s cold in here which is why I throw my leg over her. And I’m high on endorphins which is why I keep kissing her neck. 

**Ebb**

I weak and stupid but as I pull the blankets up over us (us?), it feels like home. Right. 

She kisses under my ear and I tighten my arm around her. 

“I fucking hate you,” she sighs into the corner of my mouth.

“You fucking love me,” I whisper back. Brave and reckless and ridiculous.

“Fuck off,” she responds and runs her thumb along my jaw. 

What’s the harm in a little hope?

Just for now. 


End file.
